"Okay," Sullivan said, "you know what we've got. After a year of work, incredibly little. No prints. No fibers. No tissue cells.
No DNA. The ice picks are common, sold all over the country, and the weeds are obviously untraceable. We believe the gluings were done with a standard caulking gun, the kind you can buy in any hardware store. He rams it into them, then shoots in potent animal glue. Now there was one thing we didn't get to in the briefing. Connections between the victims. Believe me, we searched for them. We have a powerful computer program designed to make that kind of search.
So far all it's come up with is a city, Cleveland, which ties together only two of the families. The brothers in Connecticut were from there, and the old lady in Florida school there before she retired.
Coincidence? taught Probably. If it was a small town in southern Ohio, I might feet different. A serial killer fixated on Cleveland-I just don't see a story line there…
Janek cleared his throat. Time now to rattle him, he thought. "Maybe it's not a serial case, Harry. Ever think of that?" "You kidding? This is a classic. Of course it's a serial case." "I'm not so sure."
Sullivan's pink cheeks began to redden. "What the hell're you talking about?"
Janek shrugged. "Call it a gut feeling." Sullivan snorted. Then he turned sarcastic. "What else does your 'gut' tell you?"
"Now don't act offended, Harry." "I am offended. You're questioning the premise of my '?" investigation. What's bugging you.
"No victimology."
Sullivan stared at him. Then he smiled. "Okay, you're good, you picked up on that. But see, even with the best software, the computer isn't perfect." "Forget the computer. I'm talking about David Chun."
"David's upset about a couple things. But-"
"He talked about everything except what the killer found attractive, what he saw in his 'difficult victims' that made him decide to go after them. And that's the key, isn't it'? if you've got that many victims and they don't tell you why they were attacked, well, then, what have you got? Far as I can see, nothing. Except"-he sneered-"'Happy Families."' "You're mocking that?"
"I don't mock homicide victims, Harry, But tell me, between the two of us, what was so goddamn happy about all those people?"
"Oh, come off it! That's just the name we use.
"Sure. That's how it started. Because you couldn't read the common element, But now it's like the name's defining the case. 'Happy Families'-how do you know they were happy? Because they lived in nice houses, nice neighborhoods, Dad coached Little League, Mom baked apple pies, and kids were on the honor roll? Because their friends and neighbors told you they were? See, Harry, I never worked a case where I didn't hear the victims were just the greatest people, the finest, happiest people. And half the time it turned out they were just like everybody else, happy and unhappy, capable of hurting each other, even capable of killing each other if the stress got bad enough.
I'm not saying your families weren't happy. I'm just asking how YOU know they were. Because I don't buy Happy Families. It's too vague. Show me a victim list of pretty blondes with hoop earrings or old ladies with hairy chins, then maybe I'll go along. But you don't have that. I think this goes deeper. I think these killings were victim-specific. I think there's an invisible thread connecting all these people and you and your team just haven't found it yet."
"After a year of work we haven't found it, the best serial killer team ever assembled. But you're going to find it? Great! Maybe you'll even find it tonight!"
Janek sat back. Sullivan's sarcasm didn't bother him. it only made him want to push the needle farther in.
"Know what I think, Harry?'l think working out of Behavioral Science has got you overinvested in the seri killer idea. I think you're so wrapped up in that you can't see beyond it to anything else.
Now Sullivan was staring at him, trying to push him with a hard cop Is stare. "Man, you've got some kind of balls," he whispered. "If I w ere you, I'd watch my step. Someone just might come along and cut 'em off. Know what I mean, Frank?"
Janek smiled. He'd forced Sullivan to resort to vulgar, tough guy talk. When a cop started talking about cutting off another cop's balls, he was aroused to a highly competitive state.
"I've heard about you," Sullivan continued, not bothering to conceal his bitterness. "I saw the way they played you on TV. This genius cop who didn't need a team, didn't need backup, didn't need nothing except his brain, which we're supposed to think is so powerful it should be registered as a dangerous weapon." Sullivan grinned. His cheeks were quivering. His little ice blue eyes were sparkling with envy. "So here we sit, end of our first day together. I lay my case out for you, a year's worth of work, and now you slip to me you got a theory of your own."
"Yeah, I guess that's about it," Janek agreed.
"I think it's a crock of shit."
"Maybe it is. But the question is, Harry, how're we going to find out?" Sullivan glared at him. "Suppose you tell me, Frank." "My suggestion is since you're so sure it's a serial case, you and your team continue working the way you are. Meantime, let Aaron and me follow up on my idea. We can set up a little two-man office in New York, in a precinct back room somewhere. Of course, we'll share what we find, but other than that, we'll stay out of your way."
Sullivan chewed on that for a moment. "Nice concept. Only trouble is… I don't see what's in it for me."
"Come on, Harry! There's plenty in it for you. You get the chance to compete."
"Compete?"
"FBI versus NYPD, you versus me. Whoever solves the case gets the glory: the book, the TV movie, the whole enchilada. Right now you've got the manpower and a year's head start. Pretty good odds."
Janek smiled as he appealed to Sullivan's weakness. "You look like a sport, Harry. What do you say?"
"I'll have to think about it."
"Do that." Janek pushed away his coffee, tossed two fifty-dollar bills onto the table, and stood up. "That's for the dinner. I'm going to try and catch the last shuttle. Call me when you decide.
But don't take too long, okay?"
New York was fogged in, so the late shuttle was diverted to Newark.
Janek exited the airport terminal into a light and soothing swirl of softly falling rain. He shared a taxi into town with a businessman from Taiwan who admitted this was his first visit to the States.
As their cab approached the Lincoln Tunnel, the city was suddenly revealed, a million lights in the towers of midtown burning through the fog. It was a great romantic vision of Manhattan, and the Taiwanese gentleman peered at it, amazed.,you must be very strong survive in a place like this," he muttered. must be strong. And even Janek nodded. Yeah, you then you may not survive.
He dropped the visitor off at the Waldorf-Astoria, then asked the driver to take him through Central Park. There the fog clung strangely to the statues and hugged the glow of the sodium lamps.
When he finally got back to his apartment, he phoned Aaron at home, told him about his proposed competition with Sullivan. Aaron was surprised. On what basis, he wanted to know, had Janek come up with "victimspecific"? "On no basis, except my feeling Chun had doubts and work under Sullivan. So I did there was no way we could w the only thing that would shake the asshole up. Whatever he said, I said the opposite." "But it is a serial case. I mean-isn't it, Frank?"
"Could be. I honestly don't know."
"Those guys seem so sure."
"Yeah, they're sure. But I wasn't builshitting Sullivan. My true gut reaction is that they're all wrong." He paused. "Did you notice how bored they were? A year of grinding work, and they got nothing."
"Just a bunch of charts and a freaked-out psychiatrist. Still, if it is a serial deal "Let me tell you something about serial deals, Aaron. When they're solved, if they are solved, it's usually because one night some hick town rookie pulls some guy over for a speeding ticket and happens to see a bloody knife on the seat. I say screw that."